So it is like this - every creation starts with a huge blank. It may be the great nebula in which you dive for inspiration, if you still have no conceptual ideas but feel the urge of conceiving something, anything, so that you can get out of your head that little demon demanding to be born. It may be the blank sheet of paper that needs to be filled with words, the blank space that needs to be filled with music, the blank canvas that awaits to be the new home for colours. It may be as well the blank state of achievement that covers the artists' mind after accomplishing their work, the peace occuring after the tumult of the labour.
What is the purpose of creation, after all? Is it the desire to impress the others or to impress ourselves? Is it a human act or a surnatural act? People started giving a shape to their ideas and views primarily because they needed to leave behind a trace of their point of view, customs and beauty standards. They desired to be more than vanishing bodies and this was pretty natural and understandable after all since every thought of this kind sprang from the idea of competition between individuals. Here we get to the point where all the roads seem to be leading to a single conclusion - we create as a result of our innately competitive mind. It is pretty amazing how this penchant towards competition blinds us to such a rate that, sometimes, we cannot perceive our limits and persist in achieving something, or if we actually become aware of them, still insist to walk on the road to improvement. Secondly, we might as well say the act of creation is merely the result of our desire to give a tangible figure to our inner perception, which is constantly altering as time goes by. Or maybe the necessity to create comes from the natural instinct of procreating and becoming a parent. Create and procreate, the structure of the words is similar, the implications are almost synonyms . Every artist's perception changes in time at the same rate with the body, and every age has a different meaning and hue. Practice makes perfect in the same way as living should bring more and more wisdom. The third question I constantly asked myself in childhood, while amazed by the romantic and passionate views on the act of creation was whether conceiving an work of art is no more than a human feature or whether by doing this we actually ascend to a higher level of communion with the greater spirit of the universe, whether by becoming a genitor in the artistic field we find another path to karmic purification and to the so-desired Nirvana. I used to write poetry and short stories and the act of doing it always brought me a state of trance. I sometimes felt that my pen was lead my something more than my will and this was quite a unique experience related to writing. It seemed that my choice was not utterly mine. I assume I will never totally understand how inspiration is born, which is the mechanism that triggers it. It might be evolution after all. Still, writing didn't bring me satisfaction or made me feel at ease as the desire to write generally came as a result of some major spirtiual troubles, so each and every time I gave birth to bits of my imagination, I felt like a young mother struggling with post-partum depression.
I want to avoid a possible conclusion on today's post because conclusions are too saddening as they seem to mark a definite and inflexible end, or art and conception have no end and no beginning, they have existed in the grains from which the Universe arose, they will exist even in the dark cloak surrounding the end of the same Universe, making possible a future rebirth.